


When He Looks At You

by WickedNerdAngel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Colors, Drabble, Love, M/M, Poetic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 02:58:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14685036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WickedNerdAngel/pseuds/WickedNerdAngel
Summary: When he looks at you, he sees blue. He sees shades of the ocean reflected in you.When he looks at you he sees green. He sees a blade of grass, an entire meadow surrounding him, feels it tickle his skin.





	When He Looks At You

**Author's Note:**

> This was one of the first things I ever wrote about Dean/Cas. I call it a poetic drabble...though, I don't really know what you call it, heh, other than "thoughts on paper."  
> I'm actually super proud of it.  
> Hope you enjoy! 
> 
> *Also, thanks to my amazing friend, @iammishahead for the beautiful artwork. <3

 

 

**When He Looks At You**

**By**

**WickedNerdAngel**

 

***

 

 

When he looks at you, he sees blue. He sees shades of the ocean reflected in you. He sees the sky on a clear, cloudless day, bright and energetic. And as it retires for the evening, calm and subdued, quiet. He sees stones of azurite and sapphire, of celestine and agate… topaz. “So beautiful,” he whispers, unable to blink.

When he looks at you, he sees brown. He sees the earth giving life. He sees a bare forest on a crisp winter day. He sees in you the diversity of pebbles in a cool mountain stream. He sees chestnut and caramel, smooth sand dunes constantly shifting and reshaping in the wind, and the tan of sun kissed skin. His fingers stretch toward that skin.

_I need to touch,_ he thinks.

When he looks at you, he sees white. A bright and vibrant light. He sees cotton freshly laundered, swaying in the breeze. He sees clouds haphazardly colliding into obscure shapes: a bird, wings outspread, the silvery outline of a blade. He sees an intense flash of lightning, hears the deep rumble of thunder. He can smell the rain. He takes in a shaky breath.

“You smell like my heaven,” he whispers on his exhale.

When he looks at you, he sees pinks and reds, oranges and yellows. The color of sunset over the ocean, melding back into blue. He feels safe in your arms, though he most likely wouldn't admit that it feels like ribbons and satin sheets, warmth and then heat. Heat so intense it could burn him if he let it, but _you_ won't let it.

When he looks at you, he sees blue. So much blue. He succumbs to it, drowns in it, blue, blue, blue. And when he can finally breathe again, the words come without his permission, forcing their way out of his mouth and onto your face because he can't stop them, he doesn't want to stop them. They're the truest words to have ever been spoken. 

“I love you.”

***

When he looks at you he sees green. He sees a blade of grass, an entire meadow surrounding him, feels it tickle his skin. He sees moss clinging to those pebbles in that same, cool mountain stream. He sees dew on springtime leaves and brand new budding flowers. He sees pine trees cradling snow, and pinecones speckling branches like the art of your freckles. He smells mint and ambrosia, and he can't help but say,

“You're beautiful too.”

When he looks at you, he sees hazel. Amber mixed with green. He sees swirling liquid in a short, stout glass and he wants to taste it with you. He sees worn out boots and leather; he smells sandalwood and oil. He sees golden sand and tumultuous waves. He sees wood worn out from pacing feet, calluses on hands he longs to hold, and he thinks,

_Will you let me touch you too?_

When he looks at you, he sees red. He sees plaid shirts and picnic baskets, wine and cherry pie. He sees blood pumping and wounds you won't let him heal. He sees flames so intense that he wants to soothe and calm. They climb, reaching for him, longing to envelop him, to burn, but he knows you  won't let them. Sometimes he wishes you would.

When he looks at you, he sees black. He sees sleek, shining metal, cold but inviting. He sees leather seats and old worn out cassettes. He sees the darkness of a cavern and the midnight sky. He sees a dark tunnel, void of light, but he knows it's there. A flickering that brightens. He sees the soul you're trying to hide.

When he looks at you, he sees green. So much green. He succumbs to it, he's enveloped in it, green, green, green. And when he can finally breathe again, the words that have been held back break free. Words he's yearned to say since the very beginning, and  he'll never take them back. Because they're the truest words to have ever been spoken.

“I love you too, Dean.”

  
**~The End** **_(or, the Beginning)_ ** **~**


End file.
